It wasn’t the first time that I’d heard any of them say something like this, but maybe it was now that I was in the same boat with them that the real impact of that conviction hit home. I’d come to accept a lot over the course of the past years since the shit hit the fan—like that, not exactly altruistic as I usually was, I could see the worth in dying for others or even just a principle. But this was pushing it. Then again, working with the hand you’re dealt and rolling with the punches? That I was all too familiar with.
“Why not go for Decker first?” I asked what I felt was the obvious next question. “If we are convinced he’s behind it, why not chop off the head of the snake and be done with it?”
I knew I’d served myself up on a silver platter when I caught the gleeful expression on Hamilton’s face. “That cognitive decline really is a bitch, huh?” he goaded me on, giving Nate a sidelong glance. “Still don’t see how you can continue to praise her intelligence.” Nate didn’t react—which left me conflicted in so many ways—which prompted Hamilton to, finally, answer my question. “We would, if we had the first clue where the spider is hiding. I have been his top attack dog from the first month of the apocalypse until I got discarded here, and I don’t have a clue in which state he’s in, let alone the exact location. I doubt I stand a chance to weasel the information out of the people I have gotten my orders from, so hunting down one of his other enforcers is our best bet.”
“The Chemist,” I interjected before he could steal even more of my thunder. See? Not stupid at all.
“Exactly,” Hamilton replied, condescending as hell.
I was about to take that small victory for what it was, until his actual words caught up with me. “Wait,” I started, narrowing my eyes at him. “What do you mean by, ‘from the first month’ on? In the past, you told us that it was only during the spring of the year after—the year we started to clash—that Decker was back. Trouble keeping your lies straight?”
Two could play the squinting game, but for once, Hamilton sounded neutral rather than nasty as he responded. “I got my orders from somewhere, right? And while Morris thinks he did a great job pretending to be in charge, it’s easy to look back and see who actually pulled the strings. When we had that conversation in the middle of nowhere in France, I thought it was a more recent development. I’ve since come to change my mind. Nobody—not even a conniving fuck like Decker—can overhaul an institution like the US Army in a few weeks only. It all goes right back to the splinter cell model. A few people in key positions were all that was needed to keep the show going.”
That made a lot of sense. More sense than what he’d told us in the past, actually. It didn’t help the paranoia roaring in the back of my mind one bit. That, in turn, made me wonder how I was still alive—but the answer to that seemed obvious. Hamilton’s orders to make sure I didn’t survive had been a trap, likely to see if his connection to his former friend was still strong enough to circumvent taking the one thing away from him that he would never forgive Hamilton for taking. It fit right into what Hamilton himself has said about Decker’s motives—that my death would leave Nate vulnerable to be pulled back into the fold. That we agreed on that not being the case rankled, but I wasn’t beyond valuing my survival over my ego. We could agree on one single thing. Well, two, if one counted killing Decker was a necessity now more than ever.
Nate waited to see if either of us was going to add to that conversation, but when we both remained silent, he addressed the assembly at large. “Now, if anyone here has any clue where the Chemist and his people went, or where they could be found, that would be great.”
Murmurs rose, particularly among the scavengers—I figured most of them had been here days longer than us, and might have noticed a train of vehicles leaving—but nobody came forth with any information. Mike’s untimely demise rankled all over again, but I doubted he would have known much since they left him behind. Frustration mounted, and for a few seconds I had to fight for control, the urge to scream—or attack someone physically—overwhelming. I managed, leaving my body open for another round of shivers. Fucking drugs! Maybe I should look into what exactly that Glimmer shit was that Harris and his people were so fond of? Going cold turkey seemed to be more problematic than a tapering-off approach, maybe…
It would have been easy to blame the withdrawal symptoms for my momentary forgetfulness, but it was only when I looked around to where Richards was lounging that I remembered that we actually had found something in that warehouse. Fishing around in my pants for the strips of cardboard I’d torn off those boxes, I squinted at the addresses printed there before holding it out to where Hamilton could read it.
“That maybe ring a bell?”
His usual smirk was already in place, ready to blow whatever suggestion I had solely on the grounds of it coming from me, but as soon as his eyes skimmed over the print on the second, it dissolved into a slight frown. “That’s one of our black site labs,” he offered gruffly, clearly annoyed I had brought up something useful. “Where did you get that from?”
I couldn’t help but bark a harsh laugh. “Seriously? You go to the length of having black site labs, but you send supplies to that very address? That’s just fucking stupid!”
Hamilton snorted. “You’d know, since it was people like you who must have ordered said supplies. That’s from something you found here?”
I nodded, my momentary excitement surpassing the need to keep my glare game on par. “Yeah, in one of the warehouses, where they produced the drugs large-scale. They could have grabbed that shit from any lab or supplier’s warehouse, but I figured, if you ferry new serum versions around, you may get lenient and just grab what’s already in stock to send along with the next guinea pig trial.”
Hamilton didn’t give me the satisfaction of telling me that I’d done a good job, but Nate’s nod was all I needed. “That’s as good a starting point as any,” he declared. “Let’s see if we have any means of verifying that, but it makes sense.” He did a brief calculation in his mind. “That would also be close enough to keep samples refrigerated, I presume? One way must be around eight hundred miles, and doable in just a few days.”
I nodded. “In a small liquid nitrogen tank, no problem.”
Nate turned to Hamilton. “Would be great if you could give us a list of all the other black site labs you know of. And generally, all the installations that could harbor our possible fugitive.”
Hamilton’s mirthless smile in return was a thing of beauty. “Are you seriously asking me to betray my people?”
Nate scoffed, rather amused. “We’re your people now. Get that into that thick skull of yours. The only way that you get to survive is if you help us—all in. No more bullshit about keeping anything back. There’s a good chance that before this ends, we will be with our backs against the wall with an execution squad in front of us, and you never know which small tidbit might be the one that makes a difference.” He waited for Hamilton to nod his agreement—which he didn’t, but his stoic staring seemed to do the trick—before he turned to the other factions. “The same goes for you, although I won’t ask you to give up your fall-back bunkers and hiding spaces. If you know anything you can reveal to us, please do so. It can be confidential between you and me and my wife only, and I promise you, we won’t turn you into betrayers of your people’s trust unless we are absolutely convinced that it’s necessary. I can’t stress this enough. Contrary to what propaganda will have you believe, it was never my intention to go toe-to-toe with the army or anyone else. All we ever did was retaliate, and try to ensure the safety of our people. If I can, I will minimize the fallout to as few people as possible. All we want is Decker’s head, and to cauterize that hydra for good so that more heads don’t keep popping up.”
Neither Blake nor Buehler seemed very disconcerted at Nate’s request, making me guess that Wilkes had sent them with instructions about how much of the Silo’s secrets they were allowed to divulge. Scott gave us nothing, but then I hadn’t gotten th
e sense that he and his marines were involved in any part of this in the first place, and had just shown up to help since they found us incapable of resolving the issue alone. Richards was the only one who looked slightly taken aback, but when Nate’s attention turned to him, he stood a little straighter. “I’m happy to provide an updated list of our bases from what Hamilton can provide,” he offered. “We have had a lot of trading opportunities with the scavengers that haven’t tried to blow us to smithereens, so most of that won’t be news to most people present. We are here for a reason, and that is still the same as for our joint mission to France. We want to ensure the survival of as many people as possible. Nothing else has ever been our intention.”
Before our conversation in the warehouse I would have found that speech a little unnecessary and rather boastful, but the way most of the scavengers kept squinting at him and the soldiers spoke a different language. Nate himself didn’t seem reluctant to believe him, but he also didn’t say so out loud, making me wonder exactly what kind of game he was playing. Going on the fact that he’d trusted Richards with our location during our hiatus, I’d have figured that same trust went a lot further, but maybe recent developments had changed his mind. That he trusted Hamilton made that even more peculiar—until I realized that, with Hamilton gone for a year, Richards was a prime candidate for having filled his slot. The ramifications for this were giving me hives.
And all that mixing with dread from the realization that we were all going to die soon as a constant droning in the background? Not exactly what I’d figured my life would look like when I’d gotten my hands on my husband again.
“I think that about concludes this meeting for now,” Nate declared, cutting through my internal musings. “We will work out an action plan today, and tomorrow morning, we decide how exactly we will proceed and who will be heading where. My second-in-command will take applications for the hunt for the Chemist. Please be advised that this will likely turn into a suicide mission, so don’t approach her without being absolutely certain that you’re up for it.” He went as far as to briefly nod in Pia’s direction, as if anyone would be stupid enough to confuse us.
With that said, murmurs rose once more, heavy debate starting among the scavengers, but also the so-far stoic factions. I watched them for a moment, but was quite happy to drop that when Marleen stepped closer, giving Pia a token, curt bow. “I’m coming with you. Don’t even think about trying to send me home with the supply train.”
The Ice Queen accepted that with a wry smile. “Wouldn’t dare presume otherwise.” When she caught my frown, she gave me a tight-lipped grimace. “Most of us will be going back to California to raise as much support as possible for what’s to come, and get our civilians to safety. And I’m not looking forward to informing another fifteen people that they’d better say goodbye to their loved ones sooner rather than later.”
There was no need to explain that remark, although she still didn’t seem fazed by Hamilton’s revelation that all of us were running on borrowed time. It was very like her to accept what couldn’t be changed, and instead work hard on finding solutions instead. Me? Not so much, I realized, when the first thing I blurted out as Nate stepped up to me was a somewhat panicked, “You knew?”
His grin bordered on a grimace and was gone a moment later, but the general ambivalence of his body language spoke volumes. “I may have suspected something like that,” he admitted, low enough that his voice didn’t carry much beyond where Pia and Marleen were standing close to us. Hamilton was already leaving, following Andrej, likely to hunt down maps for that list he would compile.
“How? And why?” Had I really been the only one to be so oblivious? And it went without saying that I still didn’t buy Hamilton’s claim of the signs I was supposedly showing.
Nate shrugged, ending the motion with crossing his arms over his chest—a tad defiantly. “Small things, mostly. Things that keep adding up. There are other explanations, of course, but when there’s a much simpler reason, it would be foolish to ignore that.” When I just looked at him, silently imploring him to elaborate, he chuffed. “Hamilton’s not the only one who had his issues with keeping the raging storm inside at bay over the past months. And, don’t forget, we’ve all dealt with people before who converted, long before the virus turned people into undead nightmares. I’ve had to shoot more than one of the men under my command because shit went sideways on a mission. You’ve seen it happen with Bailey at that factory. You never forget the signs, particularly when you’re looking for them. With some, like Bates, you don’t miss the actual moment of death, but one instant conversion happening right in your face, and you just know.”
His claim made me wonder if, just maybe, Hamilton was wrong as I was still one oblivious, happy bunny, but the nasty voice at the back of my mind just laughed at me. So much for that—but then I’d known for a while that my denial game was strong. I really could have done without that unease, twined with my paranoia, riding shotgun.
Then again, knowing I was going to die wasn’t exactly something unfamiliar for me—and yet, I was still around and kicking. And going on Nate’s assessment of our next mission, I’d have to survive first to be able to turn into a shambler on the spot—and, as usual, the chances of that happening were likely worse than my happy, carefree mind liked to contemplate.
See? There’s a silver lining in everything.
Chapter 5
As soon as I was back in the tunnels, I felt dread start to claw at the back of my throat. Since falling apart right then and there wasn’t an option—or not one I considered valid, at all, for the time being, or ever, if I had a say in it—I did my best to keep busy. It took Pia all of one look in my—probably pale as death—face to send me toward our makeshift armory to help with selecting gear and stowing away everything else that she wasn’t ready to cede to the scavengers. My less-than-stellar grip might not have made me the perfect person to pack crates and drag them outside to where cars had been readied in two disjointed trains—the larger one bound for California, the much shorter one for our mission. I would have preferred a sparring lesson—or maybe even doing sprints—but I had to stop every so often to steady myself and try not to puke up my guts again, so it was likely for the best. Nate disappeared within the first five minutes—and thankfully, so did Hamilton—leaving me to my menial if not meaningless task. It was easy to shake off Martinez, who tried not once but three times to pull me aside for what I knew was a well-meant but not-appreciated chance to talk.
Or so I thought, until the hulking form of Burns stepped in my way to pluck a crate from my arms and add it to the stack some unfortunate schlock was dragging along who’d been walking behind me. I longingly stared after my burden before I forced my attention back to my friend, surprised not to see his plus one in tow. “Are you even allowed to be here on your own?” I snarked, hoping that would get me enough scorn that he’d decide to let me stew in silence instead.
No such luck, as it turned out. Burns deflected the blow with a bright—and rather knowing—grin, still physically blocking my path. “The missus graciously granted me an exception,” he let me know.
I shook my head, hard-pressed not to add my opinion on that—but then figured, why the hell not? “I never thought you’d be that pussy-whipped guy who needs permission for anything,” I tartly told him.
Again, my blow didn’t hit home, although his grin turned a little sardonic. “What can I say—meeting the right woman changed me.”
It was only then that I realized just how much he was screwing with me. The moment he saw my frown, his smile turned into a shit-eating grin, followed by a loud peal of laughter that made a few heads turn.
“You’re such an asshole,” I muttered, but couldn’t hold back a grin of my own. “But you have to admit, you’ve been rather distant since our reunion.”
Burns shrugged, unperturbed. “Takes two to tango, you know?” he reminded me.
I let a shrug be all the agreement he would get for that. It s
eemed to be enough. Silence fell, but, as usual, not for long. He was still grinning, but it now took on a hard edge as he continued. “So from one dead man walking to another—”
“Yes, please, ignore the fact that I have boobs and ovaries,” I snarked, then corrected myself. “At least one ovary.”
He went as far as rolling his eyes but dutifully didn’t ogle my stashed-away goods. “You know what I mean.”
“And there’s nothing about this topic I want to talk about,” I pointed out. “Did Martinez send you after me? I know it wasn’t Zilinsky. She was only too happy to give me some menial task to distract me. And Romanoff would have come himself, likely packing a bottle of vodka. And I trust my husband to do the dirty work himself if he thought it was necessary.”
Burns didn’t try to deny our medic’s involvement, although the last part of my assessment seemed to amuse him the most. “You know that he’s talking shop with Hamilton? Or, more likely, shooting the shit as they must have run out of things to catch up on by now.” I tried to keep my expression calm but was sure that mention drew a scowl from me. Since it was a near-permanent fixture on my face of late, I couldn’t quite tell anymore. The snort I got for my trouble was affirmation enough. “And just how much does that bother you?”
“Bother? Not at all. It just annoys the fuck out of me, not that he cares.” Meaning Nate. “But what else is new?”
Rather than rib me for my reaction—or point out that I had no business giving him shit for his relationship seeing how mine was devolving into baleful staring matches more often than not—Burns offered a good-natured chuckle as he slapped my back and physically pushed me toward our quarters. “Let’s get some coffee into you, and then we’ll do some good old denial therapy.”
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 4 | Books 10-12 Page 51